


Beheld he the crimson light

by InvertedPhantasmagoria



Category: Bleach
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, Denial of Feelings, Eye Trauma, Gen, Headcanon, Loyalty, Nnoitra doesn't know how to care, Permanent Injury, Tesla is too loyal for his own good, Tumblr Prompt, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 01:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvertedPhantasmagoria/pseuds/InvertedPhantasmagoria
Summary: Santa Teresa rests heavy in Nnoitra’s hand, her weight a familiar thing. She’s large, unwieldy, big enough that few would have the strength to use her. Nnoitra might be special in that way, or maybe just unlucky.But her handle is familiar. The heft of her blade is almost comforting, at least in the sense that he knows how to use her.There’s a prickle of spirit energy under Nnoitra’s skin, twined with the uneasy, boiling feeling of needing tokill.It’s been too long. Staying inside the sick, white walls of Las Noches isn’t good for him. It isn’t right. If he doesn’t get out and spill some blood, Nnoitra thinks he might go crazier than he already is. At least the Shinigami won’t try to stop him.Under his eyepatch, Nnoitra’s missing heartaches.





	Beheld he the crimson light

**Author's Note:**

> Two fics in one day? More likely than you'd think. 
> 
> Here I am, posting again in this weird new style because apparently I can't stop. Bleach-fic is clicking with me today, so maybe expect another one soon? This fic is also a tumblr suggestion, which are open over at arrancxr.tumblr.com. If you have something you want to see me write, feel free to drop an ask :3
> 
> This fic is just... there. It's not particularly awful, just the exact kind of mess that you'd expect from Hollows that don't know how to Feelings. It's not intended to be shipping, but go ahead and read it that way if you want. The only warnings are a lil bit of gore and general twisted Hollow thinking. Nnoitra is not a happy guy, and Tesla really should take care of himself more.

Santa Teresa rests heavy in Nnoitra’s hand, her weight a familiar thing. She’s large, unwieldy, big enough that few would have the strength to use her. Nnoitra might be special in that way, or maybe just unlucky. 

But her handle is familiar. The heft of her blade is almost comforting, at least in the sense that he knows how to use her. 

There’s a prickle of spirit energy under Nnoitra’s skin, twined with the uneasy, boiling feeling of needing to _kill._ It’s been too long. Staying inside the sick, white walls of Las Noches isn’t good for him. It isn’t right. If he doesn’t get out and spill some blood, Nnoitra thinks he might go crazier than he already is. At least the Shinigami won’t try to stop him. 

Under his eyepatch, Nnoitra’s missing heart _aches._

. . . 

Tesla follows behind Nnoitra, exactly ten paces away. He knows by now to keep his distance. He knows that Nnoitra doesn’t take well to anyone getting too close. He’s Nnoitra’s shadow, for all it counts, but he dare not wander too near to his master’s feet. 

It’s peaceful, in a way, to have someone to follow. Nnoitra’s scythe drags through the sand behind him, but Tesla isn’t afraid. If Nnoitra kills him like this, he thinks he might die happily. 

Or at least, happier than if he’d still been alone. 

Following is a strange comfort for a Hollow, following into battle even more so. Now that he’s stuffed into some strange, human sack of skin, Tesla can see all the more clearly that he’s the unusual one here. 

But Nnoitra is tall and strong, stronger than anything that’s ever crossed their path out in the sand, and Tesla doesn’t doubt for a second that he’s found the person he’s meant to stand behind. Whether he’s made for it or not, whether a Hollow _should_ be following or not, Tesla is content. Nnoitra will either be the strongest or die trying. Tesla will either live to see him get there, or die in battle by his side. 

Hunts are normal. Nnoitra gets... unpleasant, when he spends too much time without them. Tesla knows how to go along with them. 

. . . 

The first Adjuchas falls. Hundreds of souls, erased from their awful world with one swipe of Nnoitra’s blade. If he was a different kind of person, he might feel guilty. 

The thing looked at him like it was _scared._

Nnoitra thinks, for an instant, of what it had felt like to be at that level, to never know if he’d wake up in one piece, if he’d ever reach a point where he didn’t fear death at every turn. 

He crushes that thought where it lies. He crushes what’s left of the Adjuchas’s neck just for good measure. 

Tearing off a piece of flesh that hasn’t quite melted away yet, Nnoitra sinks his teeth into it. He doesn’t have to eat much these days, doesn’t have to worry about fading away because he didn’t find enough to choke down, but the deep seated feeling of _starving_ never quite goes away. The empty taste of blood and clear meat doesn’t get any better either. 

Tesla stands obediently by, watching. Nnoitra doesn’t feel much of a desire to kill him, never really does. Tesla is... decent. He knows how to stay out of the way, even when the blood-spatters hit him. 

He looks like more of a Hollow when there’s blood on his face. 

. . . 

Nnoitra fights like it comes as natural as breathing. 

It’s exhilarating to watch, terrifying down to the parts of Tesla that still want to huddle under the sand and pray that the stronger thing goes away. It’s a sight that Tesla could envy, if he were the type to long for more than what he has. 

Tesla breathes in, the thick scent of blood coating his lungs. Nnoitra doesn’t need him now. All he has to do is stand to the side and watch. If he’s lucky, Nnoitra might turn him onto a piece of prey of his own. If the day is normal, Tesla will follow ten paces behind and make sure that nothing, _nothing_ sneaks up on Nnoitra while his back is turned. A made up duty, but one that makes him feel a little less unnecessary. 

Nnoitra crushes the Adjuchas’s neck, the broken wreck that’s left of it, and Tesla shivers. That could be him. That could be him any day that Nnoitra feels like it. 

He doesn’t know whether that thought is a comfort or a threat.

. . . 

The twentieth kill gets boring. Nnoitra has chopped up Hollows in every way a monster could by now. He’s started from the top, from the bottom, beheaded and disemboweled and de-limbed, and he’s run out of new ways to kill things. 

It’s all but mechanical now, the pattern of hack and shash, dodge and strike. Nothing here can touch him, no matter how much he wishes it could, and Nnoitra is left with nothing to do but keep killing until whatever awful void is left in his chest starts to feel a little less empty. 

That seems to happen only when he’s watching the last bits of life drain from something’s eyes. 

Nnoitra swings Santa Teresa once just to feel it. Her blade whispers through the air, the sound the same as it always is. Nnoitra is _hungry_ down to his core, starving in a way that no amount of flesh will ever fix. 

“Tesla,” he says, and Tesla snaps to attention, moving from ten paces away to a neat, even six. It’s his way of showing deference. 

“Yes, sir?”

“Kill something. Follow the strongest spiritual pressure you can, and kill it.” Why he’s saying this, Nnoitra doesn’t know. It doesn’t do any good for him to watch his subordinate slaughter things. Maybe it just makes him feel like a little more of a monster to know that he ordered it. 

Tesla nods, stern and solemn and everything Nnoitra is not. Nnoitra’s fingers itch where they grasp the handle of his blade. And yet, this is one person that he doesn’t want to see bleed out into the sand. 

. . . 

Nnoitra gives the order, and Tesla moves. He closes his eyes, pays attention to the strongest thing he can find that isn’t Nnoitra, even if that’s not something he’s particularly good at. 

It’s always hard to look past Nnoitra.

But Tesla finds something soon enough; a spiritual pressure that’s as thick and choking as black fog. It’s something on the cusp of Adjuchas and Vasto Lorde, he thinks, rushing under the sand towards them, and for all that instinctive parts of Tesla want to cower and hide from something like _that,_ he was given his orders very clearly. 

He’s stronger now than he’s ever been. His body is a prison. His body is foreign and strange, but it’s _strong._ He can kill whatever Nnoitra tells him to. Tesla feels Nnoitra’s gaze on him, and takes the first step. 

Eight Sonido steps, and he’s close to it. Two more, and the thing is beneath him. Tesla takes a breath and prepares to do as he’s told. 

Killing has never been something Tesla took much of a fondness in. He’s done what he has to. He’s enjoyed seeing things that tried to hurt him squirm and bleed. 

Nnoitra’s eye lights up when he takes the head off of something that got too close. Nnoitra only seems to feel free when he’s spattered in blood and guts and what’s left of something’s life. Tesla can be just as brutal as any other Hollow, of course, but _Nnoitra_ – 

The Hollow beneath the sand rushes up at him. Tesla slams Verruga into where it should be, knowing that he’s watched. 

. . . 

Six steps of sonido match Tesla’s ten. Something like irritation prickles under Nnoitra’s skin. Tesla should be stronger, his mind wants to think, Tesla should be like him. 

How does he tolerate someone so weak?

The Hollow rushes up from under the sand. Nnoitra can already feel that this is going to be too much for Tesla, but the blind idiot charged straight for it without a care in the world. Well, Nnoitra did tell him to. That kind of disregard for basic self-preservation is either flattering or stupid, and Nnoitra isn’t quite sure which. 

It, the Hollow, has too many sharp pieces and too many eyes. It’s close to looking human, in a weird sort of way, and Nnoitra has to hold back a snicker at how stupid the thing would have looked as an Arrancar. 

His fingers twitch around the handle of his blade. He reminds himself that this kill is for Tesla. ...if he can handle it. 

A second later, it becomes very clear that Tesla can’t handle this. 

Tesla is strong and sturdy, and he takes the first blow from the Hollow just fine. But the thing has spines that come lashing out of itself, and Tesla can’t quite think fast enough to get out of the way. Nnoitra could have dodged it. Tesla isn’t Nnoitra.

One of the spines catches him across the face. Tesla yelps _,_ biting down on his lip to stifle the sound. 

Nnoitra _sighs._

. . . 

Pain lances up the side of Tesla’s face like electricity. The noise that slips out of him is pathetically involuntary. He bites his lip so that no more sounds can come out. 

He’s strong enough to hold the thing at bay, but–, but it has _range,_ and for all Tesla can hold up a good defense, he’s starting to think that he might be out of his league. He’s either going to find a way to win this, or Nnoitra will let him die.

Tesla grits his teeth and forces the Hollow back one step. Two. 

It grows and hisses, its head constantly flickering over to where Nnnoitra stands. Of course. Nnoitra is the threat here. Not Tesla. Not Tesla who’s keeping a two-handed grip on Verruga just to make sure the thing doesn’t send him flying. Another spine lashes through the uniform fabric covering his leg, slicing through muscle and skin in a way that _burns._

Tesla has the sinking feeling that the only reason this thing hasn’t killed him already is that it’s too distracted by Nnoitra to the side. 

. . . 

Nnoitra waits until Tesla is bleeding from about five places before he steps in. It’s pathetic, but the thing _was_ stronger than expected, and he doesn’t want Tesla to die quite yet. 

One swing of Santa Teresa slices off all but one of the thing’s long-range spines. It screams, irritatingly loud, and the flicker of terror in its eyes is the only thing about this mess that’s entertaining in any way. Killing it is going to be simple. Too simple. Nnoitra estimates that he’ll down it in three more hits. 

The difference in power between him and Tesla is painfully clear.

Just as expected, the second swing takes off two of the Hollow’s limbs. The third leaves some of its guts spilling out. The fourth slices deep enough that it’s all but cut in half. The Hollow screams and screams and screams, lashing out at Nnoitra with the spines that it has left, trying frantically to draw blood. Every hit bounces off of Nnoitra’s Hierro uselessly, not leaving so much as a scratch behind. 

It started trying to run on the second hit. It didn’t get far. Instead, its body hits the ground with a solid hiss of sand. It lasted about as long as Nnoitra could have expected. Too one-sided. 

Tesla drops to the ground a second later, breathing heavy and fast. The eye that Nnoitra can see is blown wide and black. He’s shaking. Too much. Nnoitra can’t decide if he wants to strangle him for being so pathetic or leave him to fix himself and keep following. 

But Tesla, ever loyal, forces himself to his feet. He sheathes Verruga, stands on shaking legs, and returns to a place ten paces away from Nnoitra.

“I’m sorry, sir. I... I couldn’t kill it. I’m sorry you had to step in.”

“You’re not dead, are you? If I was mad, you’d be fucking dead.”

Nnoitra gives Tesla a whack on the head, maybe a little too hard, just to shock him out of those irritating thoughts. Tesla flinches hard enough that Nnoitra actually gives him a second look. 

There’s blood all over him. He’s bleeding all over, which is normal. One side of his face is too bloody to make out his eye, which is less normal. 

Nnoitra grabs Tesla’s face with one hand, letting Santa Teresa drop to the sand. Tesla sucks in a breath, but doesn’t resist. He’s either smart or stupid, and Nnoitra _hates_ the way his chest tightens at the sight. 

Up close, Tesla is definitely missing an eye. It’s been torn straight out, probably flung into the sand somewhere. The gash is messy, cutting across his face. The skin might heal, but there’s no way Tesla’s going to be growing back a whole eye any time soon. 

“You’re down an eye,” Nnoitra says, and Tesla _shakes._

. . . 

Tesla apologizes, and Nnoitra only scolds him a little bit. Nnoitra touches Tesla’s face with his long, calloused fingers, and Tesla doesn’t think to flinch away.

Down... an eye. 

No wonder his face hurts so much. 

Numbly, Tesla thinks that this isn’t good at all. His vision is blurry already, one-sided, and that’s not going to be doing him any favors in a fight. Nnoitra is strong enough to win even without a full scope of vision, but Tesla–, Tesla can’t imagine himself doing the same. He’s not like Nnoitra, no matter how badly he wishes he could be. 

They match. The ache in his face is on the opposite side of Nnoitra’s eyepatch, and the giddy rush that fills Tesla’s face _has_ to be from shock. 

“I can fight, sir,” his mouth says on its own. 

“Of course you can,” Nnoitra snaps back. Tesla’s too dizzy to flinch like he should, bloodloss making him lean into the raspy sound of Nnoitra’s voice. How nice, he thinks, that Nnoitra has so much faith in him. 

“Get back to Las Noches,” Nnoitra says next. “Bandage that shit. I’ll finish out here on my own.”

Tesla nods distantly. If he had a heart, he thinks it might be pounding in his chest. Whatever rush of battle he had is wearing off, leaving nothing but dull ache and shaking limbs behind. He probably should be worried, but instead, all he can think about is how Nnoitra seems to think he’ll be just fine. Of course he will. If Nnoitra says it, Tesla has to obey. He wouldn’t want it any differently. 

This is the way that Nnoitra reassures him. No matter what, he’ll die in a way that Nnoitra wants. He’ll die eventually, of course, bloody and horrible like the way all of them live, but when he does, it’ll be on Nnoitra’s will. 

Tesla starts back to Las Noches, and knows that Nnoitra kept him alive to fight another day. The thought isn’t as cruel as it should be. 

. . . 

Tesla vanishes into the dunes. Nnoitra stands there for a moment, watching him go. 

He looks away. He picks up Santa Teresa from where she fell. 

Nothing has changed. Of course it hasn’t. Tesla is still Tesla whether he’s missing a part or not, and whatever feeling has made its home in Nnoitra’s chest _can’t_ be guilt. Tesla lives to follow him. He’d never care that it was Nnoitra’s order that weakened him for good. 

The next Hollow Nnoitra finds becomes a bloody smear on the sand. 


End file.
